A/N: Okay, you eager readers, here's chapter 5. You get a little more information. (But not much more.)
Chapter 5
It was early evening by the time the Hardys pulled into the parking lot of a motel they were staying at for the night. Typical of Chicago, there was no available space for parking.
Frank grunted in disgust.
Joe looked over at his brother, knowing he was tired and cranky from the long drive. They'd stopped only once for a meal and restroom break, as well as to make another call to the Station of the 19th District that Nancy had worked out of to make an appointment with the man who had been her direct superior officer.
"We're still, oh, 14 or so hours early for our appointment with Nancy's superior officer, Frank," Joe said, sensing that his brother's frustration level was beginning to reach unbearable levels.
"I know." Frank muttered, and continued to drive around the parking lot, looking for a place he could squeeze into with the rental car.
When a spot finally opened up, it was with relief that Frank pulled in. He gave the departing driver a grateful wave, and turned off the ignition.
"I know you want answers, Frank," Joe said in the semi-darkness of the lot. "but we're going to have to plan here. Are you going to tell that Sergeant Mahoney tomorrow that we believe Nancy is alive?"
"I don't know." Frank said, his tone oddly flat. "We've just got to play it by ear. See what they tell us over there. Like I said, something's not right."
"You know, Frank, either way, I think Mr. Drew has a right to know what we're doing."
"Why?"
"Don't you think he'd want to know? If your roles were reversed, wouldn't you want to know?"
Frank exhaled sharply. "I suppose so."
"Fine. Then I say that when we're through with speaking to that Sergeant tomorrow, we head into River Heights."
"Fine." With that, Frank opened his door and got out of the car, slamming the door shut.
Joe sat still for a moment in the passenger's seat. He'd been wanting to ask Frank what his problem was, but he knew that his brother's mood was directly related to his unresolved issues with Nancy Drew. He's got more than a 'thing' for Ms. Drew, Joe thought. Oh, boy. We're in trouble now!
"I picked last time," the woman whose driver's license identified her as 'Molly Jenkins' said.
"I know," Agent Phillips said, "but you know we prefer it if you have some say in what name you get to choose."
"I thought you said I'd have a new I.D. waiting for me when we arrived."
"So I lied. Now come on, you don't want me to saddle you with something corny like 'Sally-Ann' do you?"
In spite of herself, 'Molly' found herself smiling at Agent Phillips' lame attempts at a humorous exchange.
"Okay, then, I choose... Joan Foster. Do I look like a 'Joan' ?"
"If we get you to dye your hair brown, sure, Joan," Agent Phillips said. "Okay. We'll have your new I.D.s, etc., ready for you as soon as we can. But again, you're more than familiar with how we do things...You know, you're holding up remarkably well. I just had to tell you that."
"I'm doing what I have to do to survive," the woman now calling herself 'Joan' said seriously, thinking of all the extremely close calls she'd had over the past year, the least of which was not her encounter last night in New York with Frank and Joe Hardy.
"Of course," Agent Phillips said, nodding his head. "...Right, then. Try to get some rest. Start thinking about what you want to do with your time while you're in San Francisco. This may sound terrible, but a job that's not as public as waiting on tables might be a better idea this time around."
"You're absolutely right, Agent Phillips," 'Joan' said, but sighed inwardly. The real problem is that I've been all over this country, working cases. No matter how much I try to change my appearance and my name, people are going to recognize me. Is there anywhere I can hide? Is there any place I can truly be safe?
"If you need me, I'll be here on the couch." Agent Phillips said, and stretched out his legs.
'Joan' walked from the living room of the San Francisco safe house into the small bathroom. From a duffel bag she pulled out a bottle of dye, and got to work altering the colour of her hair.
For what must have been the millionth time since all this madness began, she wondered if just one man in particular would recognize her in any one of her personas. Would he know who she was if they happened to cross paths? And if so, would he be overjoyed to see her, or would he think his mind was playing tricks on him and pass her by? Would he be upset or even angry and bitter?
Ned, she thought sadly, will I ever be able to see you again? And if I do, will you ever be able to forgive me for what's happened?
"You ready?" Joe asked with some trepidation.
"Yeah. Whatever it is that's been going on here, for better or worse, we're going to get to the bottom of it."
After a rather fitful sleep on the lumpy mattresses of the motel, Frank and Joe had arrived with a few minutes to spare at the 19th district station on West Belmont.
Sergeant Matthew Mahoney was waiting in his office for the brothers for their appointment. He was a balding man with a bit of a paunch, in his early 50's. His office had a desk that was well-used and worn-looking.
"Come on in, sit down," he said, invitingly.
Frank and Joe took an instant liking to the man, who seemed to have an easygoing manner.
So this is the man Nancy reported to, Frank thought, after formal introductions had been made. I bet she liked him, too.
The two young men took seats opposite the older man, and explained their reasons for wanting to meet with him.
"You see, we're old friends of Detective Drew," Frank started. "We were out of the country when – well, when she disappeared and was presumed dead."
Sergeant Mahoney raised his eyebrows slightly, but remained silent.
"We want to be able to trace Nancy's movements leading up to her disappearance last year," Joe added.
"Detective Drew was young, but she was a very good officer," Sergeant Mahoney stated. "Always professional. She was smart, too. I'd even say she was brilliant. She took her detective exam at the earliest possible point she could. Passed with flying colours. She had a great career ahead of her." The sergeant shook his head sadly. "Damn shame. A real damn shame."
"Can you fill us in on exactly what happened?" Frank asked, hungry for details. He was still unsure of whether or not he ought to tell Mahoney about the encounter the night before in New York.
Sergeant Mahoney shrugged. "We're not sure, really. Only theories. Divers found her vehicle in the Lake. That's Lake Michigan, of course. How it actually got there is the real question."
"How is it divers came to find her car there?" Joe asked.
"There had been an accident last year. Driver of a car slipped into a diabetic coma. Went off a pier. Driver drowned, unfortunately. When water rescue went down to make the recovery, they spotted Detective Drew's car down there as well."
"Your desk sergeant told me Nan, er, Detective Drew had been missing for two months prior to the discovery of her car. Who reported her missing? Who was investigating her disappearance?" asked Frank.
"Her father, Carson, filed the report. I remember quite clearly. He came in here the afternoon after the shooting."
"The shooting? What shooting?" Frank exclaimed.
"You mean you didn't know?" Sergeant Mahoney fixed his eyes on the Hardys in an expression of surprise.
Frank and Joe exchanged worried looks.
"No, Sergeant. Please elaborate," Frank said, not enjoying the feeling of dread he was experiencing.
"I'll see if I can pull out the file, just so I can give you the facts straight," Sergeant Mahoney said. He picked up his phone and put a request through to his administrative assistant for the pertinent files. "Okay, while those files are being pulled up, I'll give you a quick overview:
"Detective Drew was having dinner last year October with two others at an outdoor café. There was a drive-by shooing we believed to have been mob-related."
Frank stared at the sergeant. A drive-by shooting?
"All three women were injured," Sergeant Mahoney continued.
Frank's heart skipped a beat.
"Excuse me, Sarge," Joe cut in, "but the identities of the two others with Nancy-"
"Ah, yes...They were friends of hers from out of town. From her hometown, actually, if my memory serves me correctly."
"Bess and George," Frank murmured, not liking where this was going.
"What's that? Oh, yes. Bess Marvin and Georgina Fayne. Why, you know them, too?"
Frank and Joe could only nod.
"You two all right?" Mahoney asked, looking at them with concern.
"Just tell us – how badly were they hurt?" asked a still stunned Frank.
"Well, Detective Drew came away with a fairly nasty flesh wound, but nothing really serious. Ms. Marvin's right collarbone was badly damaged, but had she been shot any lower, it might have taken out a lung instead. She was lucky. It was Ms. Fayne who had it the worst, sadly. Her back was to the street. When the bullets started flying, she was hit twice. One bullet shattered her spine. The other cracked her right shoulder blade."
"Her spine." Joe repeated tonelessly, unbelieving, almost in a daze at this shocking news.
"Afraid so," said Sergeant Mahoney grimly, "lower vertebrae. Instant and permanent paralysis."
"Good Lord," Frank whispered, shaking his head. Joe silently stared at his feet. Both felt chilled to the bone.
There was a rap at the door. All three men looked up.
"I have those files you were asking for, Sergeant," announced a female plainclothes detective as she opened the door, holding a folder.
She walked in and quickly deposited it on Mahoney's desk. Her curious eyes swept over Frank and Joe.
"Thank you, Detective Brunelle," Mahoney said, "that'll be all."
Brunelle gave a curt nod and exited the office.
"Let's see," Sergeant Mahoney said, flipping through the contents of the folder. "Yeah. The evening of October 10th...Nine-one-one call came in at approximately 8:16 p.m...Police and ambulances were dispatched...Witness reports here state that between eight and ten shots were fired...Detective Drew herself was the only witness at the scene who got a look at the car. The only one who admitted it, anyway."
"You said earlier that it was believed to have been a mob-related shooting," Frank said, finally finding his voice. "You think the mob put a hit out on Nancy because she was the only one who could identify the car, and/or possibly the shooter?"
Sergeant Mahoney shrugged. "That was one theory. What we do know is that on the night of the shooting, after being questioned and treated at the scene, Detective Drew was taken to Mt. Sinai just for precautionary measures. She later checked herself out, saying she was on her way to Northwestern Memorial Hospital, where Ms. Fayne was taken due to the more critical nature of her injuries."
Frank and Joe winced again at the knowledge that George had been irreparably injured.
"That was the last anyone saw of Detective Drew," Mahoney continued. "She never arrived at Northwestern. When they found her car two months later, we figured she either lost control of the car due to delayed shock and drove into the Lake, or she was followed and killed by people who didn't want her around to testify about the shooting. Here, I'll put you in touch with Sergeant MacMillan. He's in charge of our Gangs Tactical team. They were the ones investigating the shooting."
"Thanks, Sergeant Mahoney. We really appreciate your time." Joe said, standing up.
"No problem. I've heard lots of stories about you fellas and your Father. Just a damn shame it's too late for any of us to have helped Detective Drew."
"I just have one final question for you, Sergeant," Frank said, "what exactly was Nancy working on before she went missing?"
"Oh, that serial case. I'm sure you've heard of it. Young women in the Chicago area found strangled in their homes?"
"I must have read about it someplace," Frank said.
"Detective Drew was on the task force. They've been trying to catch that bastard for two years now. But that was another damn shame."
"What was?" Joe asked, sitting back down in his chair.
"Well, the morning of the 10th, we got a call in about a homicide. Detective Drew and her partner, Detective Thomas Morrison arrived on the scene. Only the 'scene' was Detective Morrison's own home. Unbelievable bastard had killed Detective Morrison's wife, Debra."
"No way," Joe said.
"Son of a bitch was sending us a message: that he could kill who he wanted whenever he wanted, even a cop's wife. Tom was devastated. We pulled him and Detective Drew off the case immediately, even though Detective Drew protested. She didn't want to be left out of it. I ordered her to go home that day, but she was pretty adamant. So I told her I'd see what the District Commander thought of the situation. When you're on a case that hits close to home, being objective becomes very difficult."
You can say that again, Joe thought, instantly thinking of Frank and his interest in helping bring Nancy home.
"That was one Friday we were not thankful for by any means," Mahoney said. "Debbie Gray – that's Tom's wife - was on staff here with the medical examiner's office. Just two days before, the Chief Medical Examiner, Dr. Stanley Vasek, keeled over with a massive heart attack, right there in his office, filling out an autopsy report. Deb had to step in real quick and take over running the lab. When she was killed, we had to rush another pathologist in here to cover what the two of them would have been doing."
"Does Detective Morrison still work out of this District?" Frank inquired.
"Yeah," Sergeant Mahoney said. "You wanna talk with him, too?"
"Absolutely," Frank said.
"Okay. I'll put in a word to him about you."
"Thanks," Joe said, and handed Mahoney one of their cards. "He can reach us at this number here if he wants to get in touch. I think my brother and I would like to see him as soon as possible."
"Sure, sure," Sergeant Mahoney said. "I just gotta say that between the serial killing case and that mob shooting, well, everyone here was really shook up. A lot of the officers here have tried to move past it, see? Everyone knew Detective Drew, and most of 'em were familiar with Dr. Gray. If you're gonna be speaking with anyone else, go easy. It's never easy opening up old wounds."
"I think we understand the sensitive nature of things, Sergeant Mahoney," Frank said to the older man. "Thank you for your time."
The Hardys left the building with the contact number for Sergeant Joe MacMillan, head of the Gangs Tac team. They would be setting up a meeting with him soon in order to obtain information about the drive-by shooting.
"So, what did you think about that meeting?" Joe asked Frank when they were finally in the car.
"It went well enough," Frank said. "I like the guy, but I still got the feeling he was hiding something..."